


Wingman

by Blood_Haruspex



Category: Ace Combat
Genre: Aviation, Bonding, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Homosexuality, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Platonic Relationships, Touch-Starved, penal unit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 15:07:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21358213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blood_Haruspex/pseuds/Blood_Haruspex
Summary: After Bandog has Count shoot down Full Band over the Waiapolo Mountains, Count is emotionally destroyed. Trigger doesn't know what to do, but tries to help anyway.Takes place between mission 9 and mission 10.Chapter 2 takes place during and after mission 20.
Relationships: Count & Full Band, Trigger & Avril, Trigger & Count, Trigger/Count
Comments: 12
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

The plane's canopy popped open before it had even come to a halt. Trigger tore off his helmet and disconnected his g-suit from the cockpit avionics, not even waiting for a ground crewman to roll the little yellow ladder over to his canopy. He didn't have time for that. He stood on the seat of fighter, stepped over the edge, let himself fall to a hanging position with his hands on the bottom of the canopy, dropped the few feet onto the tarmac, and tore off towards the hangar where Count's plane had been tugged into. Count wasn't in his cockpit, which wasn't a good sign. Trigger looked pleadingly at the baffled ground crew, who pointed in the direction of the staff office. 

Shit. 

Trigger knew it was a mistake to let Count touch down before he did, even if it meant ruffling Bandog's feathers and some time in solitary. He should have been there first. He should have been waiting. Ready to handle… ready to handle  _ Count.  _ Trigger's legs were screaming in protest by the time he sprinted to the staff office door, muscles already shot from what felt like  _ hours _ of straining against g-induced blackouts, but he made it in time to grab Count by the back of his flight suit before he was able to break down Commander McKinsey's office door. Bandog and the AWACS boys always landed first so they could have fighter cover, and their often-taunted sky jailor usually went straight to McKinsey to debrief--and avoid pissed off pilots. Trigger pulled on the back Count's flight suit, pulling him into a hold to restrain him. 

"You fucking murderer!" Count shouted, rage-filled voice tempered with immense grief and clear feelings of betrayal. "You fucking murderer! I'll fucking  _ kill  _ you you son of a bitch!" he screamed at the door, kicking and struggling against Trigger's grip. 

"Count, I know--" Trigger began, but he was cut off by Count's continued tirade. 

"You marked Full Band as an enemy on  _ purpose _ you fucking piece of shit! It should have been you!" he yelled to the men in the office, budging himself forward against Trigger's hold enough to get some poorly-angled kicks at the door. "It should have been you!" 

"COUNT!" Trigger shouted, loud enough to momentarily stun his incensed wingman. "Count, you can't just--you can't just  _ say _ that, think of what you're getting yourself into!" 

"I don't give a shit anymore," he moaned, the pain and loss clear in his tone. He was hurting more than he was angry, and at times the sorrow overpowered the rage in his voice. As soon as the rage dipped, it flared back up again. "I don't care if I fucking die, just fucking let me kill that sick son of a bitch! BANDOG! GET THE FUCK OUT HERE!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, renewing his assault on the door. 

Trigger was at a loss as to what to do. All he could do was hold onto Count and do his best to stop him from kicking down the door. When he would eventually come to his senses, Trigger thought Count might even realize that he was trying to help. But until then, he struggled, because it was all he could to. Desperate not to let that rage turn into sorrow, desperate not for the guilt of unwittingly killing his friend to set in. The grief was there, still, living in Count's wet cheeks and bleary eyes, but it was buried for another few moments at least. Just when Trigger thought the man was about to calm down, the door cracked to reveal a very unconcerned-looking Bandog. Count kicked at the door, pushing it wide open, and lunged for Bandog, only barely held back by the slightly-lighter man hanging into his back. 

"You should listen to your friend, you don't know what you're getting yourself into," Bandog echoed, a sneer playing at the edge of his lips. "There are worse places than solitary."

"You did it on purpose. You  _ used _ me to take him out," Count said, his voice only a little louder than usual now that the object of his wrath was at hand. "You made me kill my wingman, one of my  _ friends. _ "

"First off, it was an accident," Bandog scoffed dismissively, avoiding Count's glare. "Second, you are a squadron of inmates, not 'friends.' I thought you were a little old for the notion." 

Count was speechless, balking at the idea that he was supposed to be above forming bonds with people. Trigger, who still had his arms wrapped around Count's chest just in case, cut through the silence. 

"If it was a mistake, how come you haven't apologized?" Trigger said icily. 

"Because accidents happen, Trigger," he said, using a little more respect in his tone. Out of Spare Squadron, the officers respected Trigger the most. Not quite as much as they would if he were a regular pilot, but not as poorly as they regarded the rest of the squadron. His tally seemed hard to ignore, and usually listened to Bandog's stupid orders more often than not. He was by all accounts, a model prisoner. He spent less time in solitary than anyone else in the squadron. 

"Bullshit! You've always thought we were expendable," Count fumed. "Doing your dumbfuck suicide missions is one thing, since yeah, we were in the military anyway, and yeah, most of us fucked up somewhere along the line."

_ Most of us.  _ Count wasn't the type who believed the military courts more than he had to, but he wasn't entirely convinced Trigger was telling the truth when he said he was set up as the fall guy. But where most of them assumed his guilt and didn't care, Count left the possibility of his innocence open, which made Trigger feel a little better. Count was also the second best pilot in the squadron, and the only one actually interested in learning from Trigger, so that had to count for something. Bandog stolidly refused to even  _ look _ at him as Count continued his tirade. "Yeah, most of us fucked up, but none of us were tricked into executing their friend, and sure as hell none of us deserved to be executed. You made me  _ kill _ him, do you know that? You made  _ me _ kill him. You could have called out to the whole squadron, but you told  _ me _ to get him. Why? How is that the redemption you're always going on about!?" 

Bandog said nothing, avoiding looking at Trigger now, too. He glanced back into McKinsey's office, and then looked back at the pair of pilots. 

"Full Band was leaking information on a public channel," Bandog explained sheepishly. "I warned him three times not to, but…" 

"Yeah, do you think I'm stupid? I know what he was doing was dumb as fuck, and he probably could have been grounded for a while. But hell, just fucking put him in solitary with a bunch of 'loose lips sink ships' videos or give him a trial! Not just have one of us suddenly kill him! You were judge and jury, and you didn't even have the goddamn spine to dirty your hands playing executioner," Count ranted, his anger cooling to a frigid contempt. Most of the squadron had been officers in the first place, and Bandog's rank was far beneath them, so he was treated with a little less respect than usual, especially given his propensity to tell them to sacrifice themselves. They hated how he lorded over them, but it wasn't as hateful as Count was right now, fists clenched, staring daggers at the man. "It should have been  _ you. _ " 

Trigger shook him, trying to get him to ground himself a little. He was one step away from going the same way as Full Band saying things like that to their jailor, and in front of their CO's occupied office, no less. Count shrugged off the gesture, but didn't try to break free from Trigger's grasp. The man was either too prideful, too ashamed, too guilty, too reckless, or just too stupid to know when to stop. "You better not get in a single seat aircraft," Count growled. "Cuz if I see you without the AWACS team on board, you're going to be leaking information all over your cockpit till you hit the ground."

"That's enough!" Trigger heard McKinsey call from his desk. "MP's, take this man to solitary." 

Trigger heard the telltale steps coming down the hallway, and released Count at once, pushing him back away from the door. Those two callous bastards had no idea what kind of pain Count was in, and they didn't even care enough to try to empathize. 

"Hold on a second," Trigger said forcefully, putting his hand on Count's chest to hold him back while maneuvering to where he could see both McKinsey and Bandog. "You have to understand what he just went through. You can't--give him a break, just this once. I'll make it my own responsibility." 

It was a gamble, Trigger knew. Using his reputation to shield Count, but if he didn't, his wingman would just stew in his guilt in solitary. Trigger wasn't sure if he would be able to take it if that happened; he didn't want Count to implode or become broken by being forced to live that moment again and again in his head. 

McKinsey looked Trigger up and down, and seeing that he had a point, relented. He called off the MP's, but made his condition clear: "If he does something he shouldn't, it's  _ both _ your asses, got it?" 

"What?" Bandog sputtered, turning around to face their CO. "Sir, you can't just--you heard what he--" he stammered before McKinsey cut him off. 

"Trigger was right. That wasn't how you should have handled this," he said, gesturing to the papers on his desk, obviously Full Band's file. "I don't think the kid was stupid enough to say anything meaningful over the radio. Guy was an avionics engineer, you know that? He was out of line, but not stupid. You went over my head."

Bandog looked at McKinsey for a long moment, debating whether to say something else but he simply turned on his heel and walked past the pilots near the door. "Dismissed," he spat. 

Count's lip curled into a sneer and he looked like he wanted to take another shot at attacking Bandog, but the firm pressure of Trigger's hand on his chest convinced him to turn around. Trigger pulled his hand back, and silently followed as Count stalked back to the barracks. They walked out of the staff office onto the tarmac, making their way past the hangars. 

When she caught sight of Trigger walking by, Avril stood up (with some effort, given her leg), but Trigger shot her an apologetic look. Her eyes darted between the two men, and her expression softened in understanding. Trigger was thankful. He wasn't always comfortable with praise, and Avril seemed to have plenty of it for him, even if she coated it in enough vulgarity to make it seem like derision. Trigger wasn't entirely sure what to make of her, but he was happy the Scrap Queen gave his plane a little extra attention, and she seemed to have a thing with Tabloid, so she probably wasn't romantically interested. Trigger found it more like admiration, almost like he was some kind of celebrity, but it was more familiar, almost like how a younger sister looks up to an elder brother, but not quite. Once she realized the situation, she squat back down, turning her attention back to the half-scrapped MiG-31 she had been working on. Trigger knew he would have to clear up some details later, because the general idea would reach her by chow time. 

Count's pace quickened when he entered the barracks, brusquely striding past the open rooms that housed the rows of bunks for each division of the unit. Trigger livened his pace as well, staying only a few paces behind until Count entered the room where the pilots slept. Since they'd been officers, and generally fighter pilots were treated like an important asset in any other unit, the accommodations here weren't as spartan as they were for the ground crew. It was still a penal unit, so all that amounted to was cubicle dividers around the beds and curtains to draw for a modicum of privacy, but it was still better than what anyone else had; their 'rax looked like one from an Army boot camp. Here, at least, Tabloid could stay up late reading and not bother anyone with his penlight, and Full Band could-- Full Band. He used to call them all together and go over crazy theories about what their next mission was from the intel he could gather, crazier than seemed plausible, but he'd been right about their subsequent sortie more often than not. Champ, when he wasn't languishing in solitary for some mischief of another, liked to drink with High Roller, and High Roller had gotten them to bond as a unit over cards. Even gotten Bandog to buy in a few times. High Roller, Champ, Full Band… It felt like their squadron was slowly being whittled away, leaving only a tough and gnarled core. 

Count trudged to his cube and ducked inside, making to tear the curtains closed, but Trigger stuck out a hand, stopping them from closing entirely. "What do you want, Trigger?" he sighed. Not angry, not exasperated, just  _ tired _ . 

"I don't think you should be alone right now," Trigger said bluntly. 

"Yeah, why not?" Count asked with a grimace, clearly intending to wallow in his misery. "Think I'm going to hang myself or something?" 

"I doubt it, you don't strike me as the type," Trigger replied, managing a smirk. "Sit," he beckoned, gesturing to Count's bunk, following him into the cube, drawing the partition, and taking a seat on the camping chair opposite the cot. 

"You going to tell me it wasn't my fault? That his blood isn't on my hands?" Count spat. "What the fuck are you  _ really  _ doing here, Trigger? Go away." 

Trigger's eyebrows rose of their own accord. Count was brash, abrasive at times, but he never snapped at anyone like that. He tried to muffle his look of surprise, and oddly enough, pang of hurt. Count was the second best pilot in the squadron, and he was a little unconventional, yeah, but Trigger considered him his equal in the air. Sure, he didn't have as high of a tally, but who was always flying next to him, who was the one mopping up the bandits who were threatening them, who was the one who tried to jump in and help against Mr. X in Yinshi until Bandog forced him not to? Half the reason Trigger was so flashy with his dogfighting was to hear Count's over-the-top praise and feigned jealousy, but Count snap at him like that was like being scratched by a pet cat. 

"All you did was shoot the missile. Full Band was in an F/A-18, just like the bandits. You were told to fire," Trigger replied, holding back the surprise and hurt from his voice. He wanted to maintain sternly rational about this. "Show me where you made a decision that puts  _ any _ of this on you, and  _ then  _ I'll go away." 

Count didn't meet his eyes, looking down with a blank expression. His golden hair hung down wreathing his face, but his bangs weren't long enough to hide behind. Trigger had to stuff down a random thought about how he fit so much hair into his helmet. 

"I can't," Count breathed, not looking up. "I can't think of anything I could have done differently."

"Even McKinsey knows it was Bandog, and knows he fucked up," Trigger confirmed, nodding. "If  _ that  _ bastard can own up to it, you shouldn't feel guilty. We can grieve, but neither of us should feel  _ guilty. _ "

Count stayed silent at that, but looked at Trigger, nodding. 

"I guess, but…" he said, burying his face in palm as he collected his thoughts. His voice was becoming shaky, and his eyes were starting to fill with tears again. "The last thing Full Band ever got to think was that I shot him down. His wingman, his friend. He must have felt… so…" he trailed off, his voice hitching, obviously struggling not to break down. Struggling, and failing, his face screwing up as he quietly wept. 

Trigger didn't have an answer for that. Count was right. Getting taken down by one of the only people in the world left that you could trust, and having that be the last thing you ever knew before everything went black… It was ethically horrifying. Trigger didn't know what to do for his friend. He could tell that Count felt some shame for crying in front of someone, another man especially, and a friend most of all. He didn't blame him; Trigger had cried his eyes out in the military prison while waiting for his court martial, for much the same reason. He knew he wasn't the one who had shot down Harling's transport, but the thought had occurred to him that maybe the president had thought so in his final moments. Even though it was an outside possibility, it tore Trigger up inside. When he was locked up back then, he would have given anything for someone to tell him it was okay. 

Trigger found himself moving to sit beside Count on the cot, putting an arm around him. He wasn't good with touchy-feely stuff, but he was pretty sure if Count felt anything like he had after Harling, just the reassurance would mean volumes. He gave the man's shoulders a squeeze, then moved his hand to gently rub at Count's upper back as he cried it out. 

"I guess I finally know what it's like to be you," he said, wiping his eyes and forcing a sad, shaky smile. Trigger knew what he meant; he knew he hadn't shot down Harling, that it was a drone that had fired the missile, but nobody seemed ready to believe him. It really bothered him, having people think he would have done that willingly, and his pride ached when people assumed he was incompetent enough that it had been an accident. Count usually gave him the benefit of the doubt, but neither of them were willing murderers, regardless. For a moment though, he would let Count believe. He just couldn't take the perceived solidarity away from him. Maybe he'd let him believe it forever.

"It wasn't your fault. Full Band… He had to have known that you didn't mean to," Trigger said after Count had calmed his breathing. "He was an avionics engineer, he knew enough to know that his IFF wouldn't be marked hostile unless it was intentional," he supplied, hoping his rational approach would soothe Count's conscience. 

"You really think he had time to think that? He didn't even have time to eject" Count retorted, a hint of bite in his voice. His expression softened, and so did his tone. "Do you believe there's a heaven, Trigger?" he asked, giving Trigger a searching look as he turned to sit cross-legged on the cot facing his wingman. 

Trigger wrestled with the question for a few moments. Not whether he believed in heaven, he certainly didn't, nor hell for that matter, but he wasn't sure if he would upset Count if he told him his true belief. He still tried to approach the situation rationally, and figured honesty was the best policy. 

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I don't."

Count looked away again, but grunted in the affirmative. "Yeah, me neither," he sighed. "Guess flying with you is as close as I'm gonna get." 

Now  _ that _ was new. Trigger was stunned, because as much as Count feigned disdain, Trigger knew he actually liked him quite a bit. He had a hard time admitting it, but the more they flew, the more cracks appeared in the façade. But calling being his wingman close to  _ heaven? _ Trigger hadn't received that level of praise from anyone, ever. 

"Wh-what do you mean?" he asked, hesitating from the shock. Count waved him off dismissively, falling back onto the bed.

"Forget it, it's stupid," he replied. Trigger was still recovering from the surprise, but decided it was probably best not to press him. 

"We can probably get him court martialed after the war, you know," Trigger said, changing the subject. 

"Bandog?" Count asked. Trigger nodded. Count shrugged. "What would it even do? How would that help?" 

Once again, Trigger was at a loss for words. He fancied himself a relatively quick and rational person, but Count had a talent for robbing him of his ability to formulate a thought. It was just his bluntness, and underneath the bravado and braggadocio, the razor-sharp perception. Trigger mumbled an apology, and Count shook his head. 

"It's not your fault the world is how it is. People suck, especially people with power, people who think they reduce you to a bunch of bullet points on paper," Count sighed, his breath shuddering for a moment in an after-spasm from crying. "I'm Count, the fraudster, the convict, the stooge who's a distant second. You're Trigger, the murderer, the ace hotshot, the savior. No matter what we do, those things are going to follow us around. That's how people who haven't ever met us think of us. Aren't we  _ more _ than that?"

"Absolutely," Trigger responded without hesitation. 

"Look, uh…" Count started. "I'm sorry. For… Making fun of you and Haring when we first met. I don't think you did it, at least not on purpose. But… either way it was shitty of me to pour salt in the wound," he said, his fists clenching and unclenching as he put himself through the mental wringer. Trigger wasn't having any of that. 

"Never bothered me," he lied. Trigger has feelings, of course, but back when he was just "Harling's murderer" to the rest of Spare, it was easier to not care about their opinions on the matter, even Count's. Once they got to know him, started bonding over more than just competition for highest kill count, they had stopped mentioning it, and started treating him more like a person, rather than the bullet points Count had eloquently called them. Whether it was because Count cared about people's opinions of him--which Trigger thought he very much did, enough that his fraud conviction stemmed from him telling harmless lies to make himself seem more interesting--or because he was just a more sensitive and introspective person, he seemed to be prone to guilting himself and spiraling harder than a damaged plane. Still, he had stabilized for the time being. 

There was a long silence, and Trigger decided Count was calm enough to get out of his hair for a while. He patted Count in the back, making as if to get up from the bed. 

"Hang in there buddy," Trigger said simply, getting to his feet and turning to leave. Before he could take a step, he felt Count's hand clasp firmly around his wrist. When Trigger turned to look back, the grip loosened, but Count didn't let go. 

"Stay. Please," Count said, giving Trigger a pleading look. Trigger hesitated for a moment, but eased back down onto the bed, nodding. 

"Okay," he said softly. Count released his arm, and buried his face in his hands. 

"It's just… I feel a lot better when you're around, you know?" he croaked. "Because I don't want to lie to you. It makes me feel…  _ free. _ "

That took Trigger aback. He knew Count was a compulsive liar, not even to his own benefit a lot of the time. If Count went to the mess hall and saw they were making chicken soup, when asked, he would report it was beef stew. When asked about his favorite book, it wound change each time--to a new book he'd never even read. What did he have to gain from such untruths? Trigger had heard at least three different stories from other members of the unit about where Count was from, and even more as to why he was in the penal unit in the first place. He inflated his tally sometimes, less and less these days, but he hardly needed to. Even with the bandits splashed that Trigger was paying attention to (and that would be less than half of those Count  _ actually _ downed), he would still have been the top ace in any other squadron. Trigger wasn't a psychologist, but he thought Count didn't think of himself as good enough, even though he had plenty of things to be proud of. Still, he had a point. He'd been full of bluster and cocksure arrogance when they'd first met, essentially playing the role of a fighter pilot, but  _ from the movies.  _ The more Trigger got to know him, though, the less Count seemed to bother with the façade, letting more and more of his personality come out. He still talked like the squadron leader to the others, still swaggered around the new inmates like he was the king of the island, but he was much more subdued when interacting with Trigger. Not to say he still wasn't confident and snarky, just less aggressively so. 

"How come?" Trigger asked, prompting Count to angle his head so just his eyes peeked out above the tips of his fingers. 

"Because… you know, because you're  _ Trigger _ ," he said, slouching back against the wall. "I feel like you can see right through it, and I don't want to make you think I'm just some lying sack of shit. Mostly, though… I feel like you actually give a shit about me as a person," he said slowly, deliberately. "Plus, when we're in the air, I feel safer when I'm close to you. 'Stick with Trigger and you'll make it' has worked out for me so far, hasn't it?" he quipped, trying to defuse the mood. 

A thought popped into Trigger's head, but he didn't want to address it. It grew, and grew, pushing out any attempt to respond to Count's honesty, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out: "Is part of your anger… Was it because Full Band never got to know the real you?" 

Count looked stunned, and Trigger grimaced at his traitorous brain. That was a stupid, hurtful thing to say, dude. No wonder Avril calls you a dumbass. Surprisingly, Count didn't shy away from the question, regaining his composure and giving a long sigh. 

"Yeah. Kind of. I mean, it sucks that he knew I was a bunch of lies sculpted into the shape of a man, but I don't think he'd like the real me. Pretty much nobody else ever did," he replied in a strained tone. "You're the first."

Trigger kept his mouth shut for a minute, chewing on what Count said, thinking of how to respond, but the other man beat him to the punch. 

"I'm sorry for putting all this shit on you, man," he said dejectedly. "It's not fair to make someone solely responsible for how another person feels."

"You're not putting shit on me, you're just venting. It's for the best. I can't have you imploding, I rely on you too much," Trigger said in a measured tone, and he believed it. His job would be way harder without Count, and the group camaraderie would feel a lot more soulless and strained than it already did. "Besides, like you said, I care. And you're right, I do like you. Not--" Trigger gesticulated towards the outside world, "--you, even though that guy is funny. But I like  _ you  _ you."

Count genuinely smiled for the first time since the dogfight, sitting back up and snickering softly. "You're the only person who's ever actually managed to make me feel better about anything. What  _ can't _ you do, Trigger?" 

Trigger grinned sheepishly in return. He was pretty sure he didn't deserve this much praise, and didn't know how to take it. It made him feel good, nonetheless. As he chewed on the oddness of the feeling, he found himself in a gentle embrace. Stirred from his thoughts, he became aware Count was hugging him from behind. He was surprised, and more interestingly, shocked that he didn't mind. 

"Thanks, Trigger," Count breathed softly. "I don't know where I would be without you. Don't leave." 

The warmth of Count's chest on his back made Trigger ache for more human contact, something he hadn't had since he was a child. He found himself wanting Count to hold him tighter, but one thought led to another and he dismissed the train of thought entirely. He shuddered involuntarily, and Count released him. 

"I--uh, I shouldn't have… I'm sorry," the blonde muttered, avoiding eye contact when Trigger turned around to face him. 

"No, Count, I… I'm just not used to that sort of thing," Trigger replied gently, not wanting to make Count feel like the gesture was unwanted. It wasn't, just  _ sudden _ was all. Trigger didn't pick up any kind of subtext behind it, it was just a gesture of comfort. Familiarity.  _ Safety _ . 

"I won't do it again, I'm sorry man, I--" Count began, shaking his head. 

"I think you're the only person who's allowed to do that to me," Trigger heard himself say, feeling quite distant behind his eyes, almost as if watching himself from above. Snapping back to normal lucidity, he steeled himself and continued. "It felt like something I've always needed, but didn't know I needed it. I'll just have to get used to it." 

Count's bashful expression melted into a measured grin, not trying to hide his relief. Trigger turned back around, leaning back into him, and he found himself being wrapped in Count's arms again. The feeling of warmth, comfort, and safety filled his body again, his mind going blank but for all the new sensation. 

"You're touch-starved too, huh?" Count ribbed gently, resting his chin on Trigger's shoulder. Trigger nodded gently. Count squeezed a little tighter, exhaling slowly. "I'm here, Trigger."

Trigger had always known the sky was his favorite place to be, but he was pretty sure this was a close second. 

\----

"You represent the cream of this squadron, our top ace, and the pinnacle of the penal unit's effectiveness," McKinsey blustered as he pointedly ignored the papers on his desk. Trigger stood at attention, wishing the old man would just get to the damn point. 

"As such, your performance has not gone unnoticed by the greater Osean forces in the region, and you have been requested for transfer to Strider squadron," McKinsey said, tapping the aforementioned papers with two fingers wrapped around a stubby cigar. "You're out of the penal unit, son." 

Trigger had to struggled to maintain attention. Finally, his court martial was overturned, his charges rescinded, and he wasn't going to have to fly as fucking  _ bait _ anymore. He was going to be in a real unit again, fly missions that mattered, eat decent food, have decent quarters again. The internal jubilation was marred somewhat when he remembered who he would be leaving behind. 

"What's going to happen to Count, and Avril, and Tabloid?" he asked when given permission to speak. McKinsey's eyes narrowed, but his bushy eyebrows rose after a few seconds of studying Trigger's face. To his credit, Trigger didn't flinch. 

"The Scrap Queen's going to a base on Tyler Island, and Tabloid is being transferred to a unit there as well. Count will continue to serve in Spare Squadron," McKinsey said. 

"You're telling me Tabloid get requisitioned but Count didn't?" Trigger asked skeptically, and just short of forcefully, realizing McKinsey wasn't technically his CO anymore. 

"The transfer orders were based on  _ my _ recommendation, son. You know he's not a good fit for a regular unit," McKinsey replied. "Not after what happened yesterday. Friendly fire doesn't look good on a record." 

Trigger was stunned, but his shock gave way to rage. 

"He was  _ ordered _ to fire," he snarled. "Full Band was a friendly on my IFF and everyone else's. Bandog singled him out." 

"So?" McKinsey snapped. Whether he was Trigger's CO or not, he still outranked him. "You convicts all had the same chances to prove yourselves. Count simply didn't. He won't fit into a regular outfit." 

Trigger wasn't going to let that happen. He wasn't going to leave Count in Spare with those two, he'd kill them or they'd kill him. Then it dawned on Trigger that there might be a way around it. 

"What are the details of my new post?" Trigger asked, regaining his composure. McKinsey seemed to buy it, and read from the orders on his desk. 

"You're the new leader of Strider Squadron, made a full Captain, and will be taking provisional duties as company commander. After you escort me to Bulgardarest, you'll be stationed--" he rambled as Trigger grew a wicked smile. 

"Excuse me sir, but Strider squadron requisitions a pilot with a good combat record to float combat duties," he said as officiously as he possibly could. McKinsey scowled at him for a long moment, and Trigger smugly cocked an eyebrow. He couldn't wait to see the look on Bandog's face. 

"Granted," the CO growled begrudgingly. "Anything else?" 

"No, sir, thank you, sir," Trigger snapped, saluting in preparation of being dismissed. McKinsey hesitated a moment, looking Trigger up and down skeptically. 

"What  _ is _ Count to you, anyway?" he asked. Trigger looked him dead in the eye and answered honestly. 

"My wingman." 


	2. Lighthouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mission 20.

"Hell yeah! You finally did it!" Count's jubilant voice came over the radio, and relief washed over Trigger's body like a wave of cold water. The two prototype drones, Hugin and Munin, were both splashed, just before the space elevator was set to reboot. They were safe from a malevolent AI who wanted to tear the skies from humanity's grasp, for now at least. 

There were cheers from the Long Range Strategic Strike Group's newfound Erusian comrades, platitudes from Jaeger about telling his son about it, and Trigger could swear he heard muffled gasps of relief coming from Húxiăn's radio channel. Thinking it would be better if her pride remained intact, Trigger muted her channel for the time being. 

"I couldn't have done it without you, guys," Trigger said honestly. "Thanks for being the best wingmen I could have asked for."

"Yeah, yeah, we make pretty good bait for your targets, huh?" Count snarked, shining a light on the squadron's kill count being, to put it lightly,  _ heavily weighted  _ in Trigger's favor. Jaeger and some of the Eruseans laughed, but Trigger didn't like the sentiment. 

"You are my  _ wingmen _ , not my lackeys," he said pointedly. He was hurt that they thought of themselves that way. "Do you honestly think I would have made it this far if I wasn't flanked by good-- _ damn good _ pilots?" 

"You're the one who brought an A-10 to Stonehenge and splashed more bandits than the rest of us," Count retorted. Trigger hated it when the squadron brought that up. They were short on supplies, he thought it was going to be a primarily ground attack mission supporting Osean troops, so he'd borrowed one of the aging brutes left mothballed on the carrier. Everything was going fine until enemy drones had appeared, not to mention the arsenal bird making a much closer encounter than he had expected. 

"Can anyone hear me?" a soft, staticky voice came over the radio. Trigger quickly tuned his radio to the frequency it was broadcasting on, and heard the voice of the Erusean princess. He knew her voice well, people listened to her speeches back in Spare, and it became hard to avoid them once they started being broadcast over the carrier's PA system. 

"There's still one drone left," she said. "It's thrown away its wings, but it's still flying!" 

"Is that the princess…? More importantly, didn't Trigger destroy all the drones?" Count wondered. Trigger didn't have time to confirm before Long Caster broadcast. 

"I'm picking up a blip on my radar… It looks like she's right," he said ominously. "It's going into the tunnel beneath the space elevator. Trigger, you're going to have to fly into the tunnel. There's enough space to turn."

Trigger felt a flash of fear. There was no way even he could fly in such a tight space, let alone fast enough to take the drone down before it could upload its data. The tunnel was full of dead air, and wasn't even a straight shot the whole way through. But he didn't have a choice. 

"Trigger, you're not actually going to… " Hùxiăn said apprehensively when she noticed him banking towards the tunnel. 

"I'm chasing that thing down," he replied, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. If he was going to die saving the world, he wanted people to remember him as brave, at least. 

"That's a suicide mission!" one of the Erusean pilots yelped as Trigger swooped around, aligning himself with the entrance to the tunnel. He was going to have to do it, and he was going to do his best not to die trying, but he knew that it was most likely going to be his last mission. There were a lot of things he had left to do, a lot of things left unsaid, people he cared about left behind, the one he cared about most of all--

"Uh, Count, where are you going?" Jaeger called apprehensively. Trigger glanced over his shoulder and saw Count's plane forming up behind him. 

"Count, you shouldn't, I mean--" Trigger said, trying to put the kaibosh on a  _ double _ suicide mission. 

"What, you doubt my abilities?" he said confidently. "We rely on Trigger too much. He's gonna need backup."

"That's insane!" Hùxăn cried. 

"You were fine with Trigger doing the same thing," Count pointed out as Trigger entered the tunnel. 

"Yeah, but… Trigger's different," she managed. 

"Something I learned from my last squadron: 'Stick with Trigger and you'll make it'," Count said. Trigger could hear a hint of a smirk in his voice, and even more so when Count entered the tunnel after him. "I couldn't leave you, buddy. We work better as a team."

"I guess that's just how it's meant to be," Trigger answered, knowing it was too late for them to turn back. "Thanks, Count. I mean, if we go down… Thanks for being here." 

"Don't go saying your goodbyes before the show's over," Count retorted. "I'm not going down as long as I'm with you, and I'm sure as hell not letting you go down while I'm around." 

As they zoomed through the tunnel, they reached an antechamber, big enough to circle around in, but Trigger knew he didn't have much time. He caught a glimpse of the UAV as he floored his throttle, seeing if he could catch up, and the tunnel doors started closing. 

"There it is! Can you get a clean shot?" Count asked, not wanting to try his own luck, given that he was behind Trigger. 

"No, it's going around a curve, I can't see it anymore," Trigger said as they entered another antechamber. Trigger heard the UAV's distinctive propulsion system, and heard a burst of machine gun fire as he raced into the tunnel, the door slowly closing behind him. 

"Shit, I'm hit!" Count announced, and in that moment, something inside Trigger snapped. The thought of flying without Count by his side frightened him, and picturing Count being killed by a soulless machine infuriated him. That piece of shit UAV was not getting away with that. Not even close. Trigger's body reacted on its own, doing something he would never be stupid enough to do otherwise. He put his plane into a stall near the ground, pitched up, and performed a half kulbit maneuver, turning himself around. He leveled out and gave the engine all the juice he had, full afterburner, racing back to the antechamber where Count and the UAV were. The door was closing, fast. Trigger got as close to the ground as he possibly could, fighting ground effect, and rocketed towards the door. He sped through the crack, hearing a light scrape as the top of his tail fins barely contacted the closing door. 

"I think it's my engine, I'm not g--Trigger, what the fuck?" Count exclaimed, doing what little he could to shake the UAV with a damaged plane. 

"I'm not leaving you," Trigger replied, shaking his head forcefully, feeling like he was outside his body. "I'm not leaving you with this  _ thing. _ "

Trigger lined up a shot from his autocannon, not daring to use a missile where it might lock on to Count. Normally IFF prevented that sort of thing, but this far underground, it was patchy at best and absent at worst. Trigger put his pipper ahead of the drone and fired. A klaxon informed him that, in this worst of times, his gun had jammed. 

"Uh, Trig, what are you waiting for?" Count called, doing an corkscrewed aileron roll to avoid a burst of fire from the UAV. 

"My guns are jammed!" Trigger shouted in return, starting to become scared. His only weapon left had a fifty-fifty shot of killing someone important to him, or basically saving the world. His mind fogged up like a cloud-iced cockpit, unable to even comprehend making a decision. 

"Use your missiles, take the shot," Count replied calmly. 

"No," Trigger said firmly. He wasn't even going to risk it. So what if the drone succeeded and they had to fight a few more. He'd prefer that over potentially shooting his friend down any day. 

"I can eject, just take the shot," Count said pleadingly. Trigger knew Count wasn't the self-sacrificial type, but hearing him willing to lay his life down for the greater good awoke a small flame in Trigger's chest. 

"The ceiling is too low, you'll die! I'll bait it and  _ you  _ shoot it down," Trigger said desperately. 

"No dice Trigger, I can barely keep this thing level. Just take the damn shot already!" he besought Trigger, but the latter wasn't going to do that. Trigger's eyes went wide as he saw the UAV lining up a shot on Count's damaged plane, and the little flame in his chest grew, his spine feeling like it was full of ice from a deep, primal fear. A sad, longing fear, imagining never being able to talk to Count again. Never being able to fly next to him, never being able to lose himself in his embrace. Trigger gave his engine some gas, catching up to the drone. 

"No! I'm not losing you!" Trigger shouted back, only seeing one way out of the tunnel for both of them. He rolled hard into the UAV, his wing crashing down onto the forward swept wing of the AI. Even with its fly-by-wire and precision stability, the drone couldn't survive having its wing broken off. It spiraled out of control, losing altitude and crashing into the wall of the antechamber. 

Trigger's plane fared a little better. The tip of his wing had cracked off, fluttering down to the ground alongside the the UAV, but most of his wing remained intact. Surprisingly enough, the plane was still under control, and still able to fly. He didn't want to try to get back to base with it, but he was out of danger for the time being. The flame in his chest turned to ice when he realized Count probably wasn't going to make it back to base either. 

"That was incredibly brave. Really stupid, but really brave," Count said, laughing nervously. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking of you," Trigger said reflexively, but quickly snapped his mouth shut and kicked himself internally. Adrenaline did make him a little more candid than usual, but he wasn't the type to go making revelatory comments. 

"So, uh, what now? You're right, this room too small to eject and there's not enough room to ditch," Count pointed out. 

"Well, the drone closed the doors, do you think we could get the ground crew to open them remotely?" Trigger pondered, flying as close to the ceiling as he dared and switching to a low-band channel. "AWACS, Space Elevator ground crew, does anyone read?" 

"We rea… u, but you're…tchy. Are you…nder spa…vator?" came the reply. 

"I need you to open all the doors in the access tunnels as soon as possible!" Trigger demanded, repeating it multiple times so he was sure they got the full message. He was surprised at how quickly the doors opened. 

"Well, jeez, Trigger, don't go making it easy on us. What, did you think we were supposed to survive this?" Count joked. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Trigger noticed the wreckage of the drone shift slightly. An antenna extended out from the crumpled heap, and Trigger could see a faint red light underneath the debris. His relief turned to exasperation, and Count saw it too. 

"You've  _ got  _ to be kidding me!" he groaned. "Its transmitting now that the doors are open!"

Both pilots tried to angle their planes for a shot at the grounded drone, but the chamber was too small for them to get an angle without hitting the ground. 

"Where the hell is it transmitting to?!" Trigger asked intensely, flooring his throttle into the tunnel, flying deeper below the space elevator. His plane shuddered and bucked as he fought against the missing wing, and Count was trailing smoke. 

"There are these little, like, bulb things directly under the elevator. Those are the radio transmitters, if you blow them up the thing is shit out of luck," Count explained. 

"How the  _ hell _ do you know that?" Trigger asked, truly surprised. Count skimmed most mission briefings, but this wasn't  _ in _ the mission briefing. 

"Full Band found it in a computer somewhere," he replied in a neutral tone. 

As they rocketed into the massive chamber below the space elevator, Trigger saw the doors to the chamber closing, the AI once again taking over. He lined up a shot on one of the bulbs, hearing the faintest, staticky, distorted laughter as the doors sealed shut. It sounded like Mr. X, but twisted and malicious. Trigger didn't like the sound of that one bit, and fired a missile at the same time as Count. Two of the bulbs exploded, and they looped around the central pillar blowing up two more each, until there were none left. 

"Are we safe?" Trigger asked, adrenaline still pumping, and desperate for reassurance. 

"Well, our planes are trashed, but I think there's enough room to eject in here," Count said, sounding relieved. 

Trigger bit his lip under his oxygen mask. He was in an Su-35, which had quite a bit more propellant in the ejector seat than Count's f-15e, which was designed to operate at higher altitudes on average. He reckoned that Count could eject if he was careful, but Trigger didn't have that option. 

"My seat's got a little more get-up-and-go than yours does," he pointed out. Count groaned in realization. 

"Shit, you're right," he replied, sounding conflicted. After a few moments, Trigger heard a small click of the tongue. "I've figured out a way to get you out of here!"

"Whatcha got?"

"The elevator's windbreak is hollow, so you should be able to fly straight out," Count said. 

"With a broken wing?" Trigger replied, his voice sounding a little more apprehensive than fearful, but just a little bit. He didn't want to go anywhere until he knew Count was safe, but what could he do from his plane? Every second in the air was another gamble on whether the rest of the wing would snap, killing him for sure. 

"You're the best damn pilot I've ever seen, I know you can make it!" Count said. "Damn, my plane isn't giving me enough thrust! I wanted to wait until I had less fuel, but…"

Count's plane starting to lose altitude in the dead air of the chamber. Trigger couldn't bear to watch. He lined his plane up with the windbreak, and arced into a vertical climb. 

"Be safe!" Trigger called back to him. "Don't go. Please."

The static from Count's radio went silent, and Trigger floored his engine, racing up the windbreak like a bottle rocket. As he cleared the top of the structure, he could hear the rest of the squadron calling out to him, praising him and verbally patting him on the back, but he didn't hear any of it. His hearing was muffled, his focus elsewhere. As soon as he leveled out and got far enough away from the tower, Trigger ejected. Mere moments after his parachute deployed, Trigger saw the remainder of his wing snap off, having only been held in place by his smooth and gentle flying. He should have felt relieved, but during his float to the ground and swim to shore, one thing dominated his thoughts: whether Count was okay.

The land area surrounding the space elevator was surprisingly large, and it took a fair minute of jogging to find an entrance to the lower levels. Trigger ran down a flight of stairs, and found himself staring into the face of Count, who was a few steps below. The setting sun wreathed Trigger's silhouette in Count's eyes, and he couldn't decide which was brighter. 

"I guess it's my fate to watch from down below," Count said, relief clear in his voice, with only a shadow of its roguish smarm. 

Trigger didn't have any words to say. Even if he did, he couldn't have said them. His eyes filled with tears and he descended the last few steps to embrace his wingman. 

"I _knew_ you'd make it," Count said gently, rubbing up and down Trigger's back, feeling the wet fabric of his flight suit. 

"I couldn't bear losing you," Trigger croaked, sniffing and burying his head in Count's shoulder. 

Count pulled back for a moment, and Trigger raised his head and felt a flush of momentary fear that he was being too familiar. Count obliterated that fear by pressing his lips to Trigger's. Trigger felt a wave of warmth crash over him, his muscles relaxing and a fresh set of tears pushing past his eyelids as he leaned into Count's kiss. Count held him close, and poured his soul into the other man. The two stood locked in a gentle kiss for several long moments. Count was the one to break it off, squeezing Trigger tight. The pilots stood, rocking together in an embrace that said more than words ever could. 

For the first time in a long time, each of them felt at peace. The war was over, the fighting was done, their troubles were over, and maybe, just maybe, they had a life to explore together. 


End file.
